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Along the Way |
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When your friendship
becomes a safety net
By GINA GALLO
of TheColumnists.com
The phone call starts off in the usual way. This Southern
gentleman who lives on the other coast has been a friend for
what seems like forever, so this conversation kicks off as expected.
The jokes, insults and some good-natured verbal sparring continue
as usual until that awful obscenity he’s never used before,
the ‘C’ word that stops me cold.
Cancer, he tells me. Early stage at this point, with various
treatment options available but still......cancer.
And because he’s so
careful to keep his tone light I know he’s falling apart,
and that somehow, I have to keep him intact. Over the years this
friend and I have been through a lot together. Separated only
by geography, we’ve shared triumphs and family news, commiserated
over life plans gone awry, talked each other through struggles
and doubts and those dark fears that only a 3 a.m. phone call
with a trusted friend can vanquish. We’ve bolstered each
other through the worst of it, were philosophical about the rest
and convinced each other that somehow, we’d make it through.
And on those occasions when Life presented an obstacle that seemed
insurmountable, my friend was there to assure me it was only
a detour along the way.
Cancer, he says, in a voice as casual as a coffee break. The
doctors told him it was a surprising diagnosis, considering how
young he is, but there it was. He mentions the treatment options,
all of which have permanent side effects.
“It’ll change my life,” he tells me. “As
a man, anyway...” For the first time his voice wobbles,
dangerously close to breaking.
Instantly, I picture my friend’s life in a fast-forward
series of freeze frames. A direct descendant of Mark Twain, he’s
a poet, scholar and actor, talents he shared with others through
his historical reference books published and the college drama
classes he taught.
After a stint in the army, his hero’s heart took him to a career in law enforcement. As the second officer on the scene at the Oklahoma City bombing, he still wrestles with the emotional repercussions of that horrific tragedy. But like a true hero, that burden hasn’t prevented him from being a wonderful father, dynamic activist and one of the most accomplished state investigators in the Southeast. This man who’s braved the most dangerous landscapes of hell on earth is the friend who reminds me that life’s curveballs are only detours along the way.
Now that he’s facing
the most daunting pitch of all, I have to reciprocate in kind,
in a way that’ll ensure he gets his mitt and stays in the
game. And because he expects nothing less than the usual from
an old friend, I resort to threats--what a former Chicago cop
does best.
If he’s going to wimp out on treatment, I tell him I’ll
be happy to write his eulogy. Once he croaks, it’ll be my
last chance to expose all his darkest secrets, and I’ll
make sure to include them all: his preference for leggy blondes,
his fatal attraction for strawberry shortcake, and that unsettling
stint as an undercover Vice cop when he got more propositions
than the female officers.
And since he won’t be around to defend himself, I might
as well toss in some juicy stuff just to smear his character.
Why bore the mourners with sermons about a saint when I can wow
them with sordid gossip--even if it’s not true? In the event
there’s a talent scout from the National Enquirer lurking
in one of the pews, I might be recruited for a new career writing
tabloid trash.
And on the subject of milking a photo op, I’m not going
to blow one last chance to make some money off his lineage. Since
any descendant of Mark Twain should go out in suitable style,
I’ve got the perfect Tom Sawyer-esque event planned for
the funeral. I tell him that, for only a nominal fee, mourners
will be able to buy a turn at whitewashing his hearse. If there’s
a big hearse and enough mourners, that should raise enough cash
to cover my post-funeral trip to the islands where I’ll
be sure to hoist a few umbrella-trimmed cocktails in his memory.
By now he’s alternately laughing and swearing--a healthy
sign that our usual communication is back on track. After a few
more expletives to remind me that I’m the kind of pain for
which there is no treatment, we begin to plot his best way to
navigate this latest detour along the way.
His next phone call came just last night, one day after the surgical
procedure that saved his life. He tells me that as a result of
the treatment, he's got a radioactive crotch. This is a bonus,
I tell him, since he’ll now be able to cook TV dinners without
a microwave. Not to mention that it should boost his appeal on
the dating scene because women love men who can cook.
He thanks me for the recent news clipping I sent about singer
James Brown, who’s just had the same surgical procedure.
It arrived with my suggestion to explore a new career direction
in show biz, one where he and James can sing a duet, “Papa’s
got a (almost) brand new bag.”
The jokes and insults fly fast and furiously. Neither of us thinks
to mention what we both know is gospel: that the friendships
that weave the tapestries of our lives are also the safety nets
that keep us from falling when we run into one of those detours
along the way.
Copyright 2005 by Gina Gallo. The illustrations are from IMSI's
Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael,
CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted on Feb. 14, 2005.
You
can comment on this column online. Please address your message
to either "The Editors" or Gina Gallo. To send an email,
click here: talkback@thecolumnists.com
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